Novel & Cerita White Collar Suits Neal Caffrey

Leila stood frozen in the grand foyer, listening to the retreating purr of the car engine. She was wearing one of her defensive outfits: an old, faded college sweatshirt and joggers. "Now that's a shame." Jeffery's voice echoed from the top of the curved staircase. She looked up. He was leaning against the railing, dressed in dark gray lounge pants and a tight white t-shirt that showed every defined muscle of his chest and arms. He held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. His expression was one of relaxed, absolute ownership.

It’s an impulse. “My darling,” I hear, and turn to see Godfrey walk in and speed right over to his mate. I raise my eyebrow at his ridiculous outfit, but quickly fix my face. His mate lights up and dashes around the bar so quickly to join him I nearly wonder if I hallucinated how fast she moved. Godfrey has on a white shirt that I’ve only seen in my history books from hundreds of years ago and it's lined in gold. He’s got some kind of expensive looking golf scarf knotted around his throat and black dress pants … lined in gold.

The man that had come to invite Nate to his table had scurried off the minute Spade showed up, Nate's eyes swept through his body, he was putting on a deep navy blue suit, white buttoned up shirt inside, no tie, the first button on his shirt was undone and Nate could see the few chest hair peeking out, and the shimmering necklace he had on. Nate's eyes moved up until they stopped on the hard, emotionless, grey eyes, he swallowed as he watched Spade stare at him, his skin was burning as if Spade's eyes were laser beams and they would cut through to him any second

"What the hell are you wearing?" Ignatius gripped the doorframe of the dressing room, his knuckles white against the dark wood. He didn't come inside. He just stood there, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring as he sucked in the air. The room was thick with it. Sandalwood. Expensive tobacco. The heavy, pressurized scent of a boardroom. It was the only cologne Cane ever touched. Rafferty didn't look up. He adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror, his fingers steady. He smoothed the fabric over his throat, hiding the faint, fading yellow of the bruises Ignatius had left days ago.

“But you heard Kane. We’re not to engage in any sort of activity. Just ignore it.” My wolf snarled in the back of my head, clearly frustrated at my refusal to pursue the issue. Instead, I focused back on the day with my friends. I selected a pair of heels to go with the dress and picked out a dark purple tie for Kane to wear with this suit. After we finished our shopping, the three of us decided to head to the nearest cafe. We put in an order for sandwiches and a couple of ice teas. We settled into an open booth and waited for our food.

Her nails were polished white, and her black leather shoe, glittered. "How do I look Nate?" Carl asked his P.W.A "You look perfectly gorgeous. This outfit matches the occasion. My lady will definitely trip over you once she sights you." Carl, being in his mid 20's and his p. w. a, in her early 30's. Ever since she started working with him, he never saw her once as a worker but as a friend. She knew pretty well things happening in his life. Carl was dressed in a well tailored white suit, with a crisp white shirt, well stuck in. He touched his white silk tie, trying to adjust it properly. He wore an oxford leather shoe, and a Rolex on his wrist.

When I arrived back at my desk, Caleb reappeared. I ignored the jitter my body gave at the sight of him. “Can I help with something, Mr Wolfe?” He gave me a long look, up and down. I was wearing a brown check strapless midi dress over a white collared shirt with a slim brown belt. I decided to sit down before he answered me, if only so I could cross my legs for the way that look made me feel. “Yes,” he finally said. “I thought it might be useful for you to know that I usually enjoy a coffee when I get in.”

She had no choice but to allow Jeff to tag along. Kelvin stood in front of the Cafe with the Lawmans beside him. A decent crowd was already standing in front of the Cafe as they waited for him to cut open the ribbon that stood in front of the huge glass doors that served as the entrance to the Cafe. He was feeling nervous and anxious. Anxious, because he was waiting for Zara to come. Rita Lawman had worn a nice black dress and her hairdo was nice. Paul had worn a brown cardigan with beige trousers and black shoes. He looked like the ideal American as he flashed his smile at the people who were waiting outside.

The morning newspaper crinkled between his hands as he turned the page with practised precision, occasionally lifting his mug of black coffee: no cream, no sugar, bitter as his business decisions to his lips. He was dressed in a three-piece Tom Ford charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. The fabric had that subtle sheen that only came from the finest Italian wool, tailored so perfectly it looked like it had been sewn directly onto his frame. His crisp white Turnbull & Asser shirt was monogrammed at the cuff R.H. in navy blue threading, and his burgundy silk tie was knotted in a perfect Windsor.

Neriah is about to ask if he plans on leaving work before the closing hour because of her, but she isn’t supposed to care what he does with his company. The knock on her door is much expected and Neriah opens to see Cainan still in his work clothes, which is an oxblood coloured suit and trouser and a white inner long sleeve. His hair parted in the middle, giving his face a defined shape and there are a few traces of beards in his face, entailing that he probably hasn’t shaved in a few days. “I’m guessing you’re gonna let me in when you’re done, right?” He asks after a long while of awkwardly watching her check him out.